


Cadence

by levitatethis



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Immortal Husbands, M/M, Multi, Muslim Character, Platonic Love, Romantic Soulmates, Talk of Racism and Islamaphobia, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25791658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: Yusuf has never taken his found family for granted.  Still, it's important to re-establish connections, old and new.In a nutshell: Andy has a support system, Yusuf and Nile do some major bonding, there's hope yet for Booker, Yusuf and Nicolo are the definition of love.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 39
Kudos: 354





	Cadence

**Author's Note:**

> In the final section I've italicized dialogue indicating when Nicolo and Yusuf are speaking in Italian to each other (I didn't want to run the risk of Google translate botching it so I wrote it out in English).

“My feelings for him weren’t always clear, yet I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love him.”

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

He waits.

Baklava remains untouched on a decorative dessert plate while two Turkish apple teas blow off steam in small intricately designed glasses on the table between them.

“I stopped look,” Andy finally says. Slightly hunched in her seat, her eyes are focused downward as though she can’t bring herself to make eye contact. “I could have found her.”

Quynh. Her name is hard to say nowadays. They used to be able to reference her with respect and honour. Ever since Nile’s dreams her name seems like a cruel joke poking at their own fallibilities. After all what is immortality if you’re still susceptible to basic human vulnerabilities?

Quynh. Her name is a reminder of devastating loss; the kind of which takes up squatting rights in your bones and refuses to leave until you become one and the same. She’s a reminder that even their love is subject to rules and regulations none of them signed up for and that it can be taken away on any day at any time.

“I should have found her.”

Yusuf hates when Andy sounds this uncertain. It’s not a normal type of second guessing. It’s deep rooted self-doubt. He doesn’t tell her as often as he should but he counts on her strength of perseverance. He says as much in a circular fashion with kind words, relying on the tone and flowery language to reveal what lies beneath. He thinks he could occasionally stand to be more to the point.

Now is when he takes a beat and inches politely into her space, tracing the fingers of his left hand across the bottom of his tea glass. “This is not on you, boss. We didn’t find her. We have traversed this world more than most. We know today’s gadgets are a con that make the world seem smaller than it actually is. We can talk to someone five time zones removed in their present and our future but that doesn’t mean we can physically find any person in this world just because we want to – you’re talking about one grain of sand in the middle of a sandstorm.”

Her quiet disposition encourages him to scoot just a bit closer and tentatively place his right hand on the table palm up; both his hands now upturned as if in the Muslim prayer position. Andy looks at him.

“So much of this world is still unknown to us,” he continues.

“You wouldn’t have stopped looking for Nicky,” she points out.

As often happens when Nicolo is conjured to Yusuf’s mind he instinctively wants to wax poetic about the man he has lived endless lifetimes with; the man who has defined for him what love is in ways that go far beyond the limits of even the most exquisite human imagination.

This is clearly not the time for that digression and the reality is – if he truly lets himself think on the very notion of having Nicolo taken away and disappeared into a void – he would be utterly undone and at the mercy of an ever fading hope.

“Yes, I would search beyond what is reasonable,” he confesses. “But when the years slip away until they’re too many to count, too many for more than one human lifetime, and there is still _nothing_ to show, I don’t know what would become of me.”

He knows they’re both thinking of Booker, currently exiled from his family for “conduct unbecoming” (as quipped by Nile who tried to spin a bit of humour in the middle of dire discussions). Booker, who is the textbook example of not dealing well with the loss of his loved ones. Booker, who they avoid speaking of yet no one can stop thinking about. Such is family.

What is one hundred years for an immortal but a drop in the ocean –  
Unless you’re already depressed and then it’s a cataclysmic sentence into alcoholism for a wrong decision ultimately borne out of endless grief.

“When I look at you I don’t see the worst that can happen.”

As Andy scoffs her disbelief he continues, refusing to let her shut down. “I see someone who survived the worst possible loss the best way they could.”

“I wasn’t good enough, Joe.”

“Says who? We’re immortals not oracles. We can’t see the future; we just try to survive the present as best we can. _That_ is the choice we make each day.”

Her look is considering as she places one of her hands in his. Immediately he raises it to his lips and bestows a kiss. She smiles, soft yet appreciative.

“And knowing what we do now, if I said it was time to look for Quynh again?”

Yusuf smiles. “Just tell us when and where, boss.”

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

Money really “gets shit done” Nile reminds them with an eye roll (and Yusuf continues to enjoy her on point observational skills).

Copley has access to resources. His primary focus (and he still tries to angle it into conversations now and then) is still the hope of finding a way to harness their unique ability to regenerate into something that could fight all kinds of human disease and ailments; the kind that left him a widower. However previous actions have placed him on probation with Andy and he’s still proving himself a team player. Lots of walking on eggshells.

He has a few very generous benefactors who, while still in the dark about the true extent of the team’s capabilities (for their own safety, the team insists), are happy to hire them for various jobs. Not all get the green light – money may talk but they’ve lived too long and too often seen the consequences of blindly “following orders” or people justifying disgusting actions for an alleged greater good. Each potential job is dissected and analyzed at intense family meetings to ensure that all angles are explored until it’s kosher to proceed.

Copley’s resources, then, come from his benefactors who pay a pretty penny when Andy (with the team’s ultimate okay) agrees to take on a work-for-hire assignment; resources the team have agreed to focus on finding Quynh – the beginning and now, possibly, the end.

It’s a real circle of life.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

**WITCH TRIAL TOURS**

**Explore the infamous grounds of England’s dark past**

**Historically accurate reenactments! Costume Contest! Games for the whole family!**

**Both general and private tours available with knowledgeable guides who can tailor each tour to your preference (fun _and_ educational)**

**Spots limited – don’t miss out!**

It’s macabre the way human cruelty can be repackaged in the name of historical identity, family playdates and padding a bank account.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

It’s been a very long day. What started off as a mix of reverent curiousity has become heavier and more morbid than anticipated.

It’s no surprise that Andy has grown increasingly quiet as the day wore on. It’s all too close for her, this collision of worlds, the old one breathing down her neck. Nicolo’s attention rarely leaves her, concern etched in his brow, silently indicating to Yusuf that maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

For his own part Yusuf has been watching Nile and noticing the subtle yet definite change in her own attitude, a sharp contrast from that morning’s quick stepping wonderment to this afternoon’s plodding movements and unimpressed countenance. At the end of the official tour, when it’s time for the masses to be let loose to their own devices for awhile, Yusuf and Nicolo make quick work of their ability to communicate without words resulting in Yusuf asking Nile to join him for a walk to the far side of the grounds to get some fresh air far away from the rest of the tourists.

They strike a steady pace with each step carrying an unspoken thought not yet ready to say aloud. If there’s one thing that has served Yusuf well in times like these it’s patience. Timing can be everything.

“I don’t know what I thought this would be,” Nile finally says. “I mean I know that for Andy this must be…a trip. I see all these people playing parts, buying souvenirs and snacks and I look at Andy and know that for her this place is not a theme park. Women were imprisoned and tortured here by men who decided they were too different and needed to be taught a lesson. Men who took pleasure in hurting women. The person Andy loved most in this world was ripped away from her and buried at the bottom of the ocean, no mercy – yay, let’s get keychain!”

She sighs and fiddles with the hem of her jacket sleeves. “I don’t know…It’s messed up, but then I think it’s not that different from back home. If you go to the South – to Louisiana – you can tour the old plantations, see the big house and slave quarters, buy memorabilia. And I get that, not ignoring the history part.”

She stops and looks at him. “But you can also get married on those plantations – these beautifully maintained grounds that are built on the broken bodies and blood of Black people who were kidnapped from their homes and forced into a life so ugly we still feel and live with that pain today. But hey, let’s put a pretty bow on it and call it a romantic escape! It’s like they put a price tag on someone else’s suffering but who really gains anything from it? Not the people who got hurt. What do they get in the long run?”

Yusuf tilts his head in consideration and thinks over her words, and then his own, very carefully. “Some people,” (and they share an amused eyebrow raise at what they’re both thinking) “have never felt the need to give any thought to the consequences of the past. For them it’s an amusing story to recount at parties to make themselves sound smarter than they are. They can treat it like an accessory that can be worn or removed day-to-day. We don’t have that luxury. We have to wear it.”

He takes a small exaggeratedly slow step to encourage their stroll to continue. Nile follows at his side.

“After so many centuries and so much moving around I hadn’t thought about how much I was still holding onto, how much of my past still informs my present. Nicky and I have always talked about our history, from before we were together and then after, so it’s not as if it was buried and collecting anger while I was looking somewhere else. As time went on I thought I’d compartmentalized it into a nice safe little package carefully tucked away, especially as the years pushed out further from some of the worst of it. Then in the mid-80s we were in California for a short stint and doing a semester at university.”

He rubs at his beard with one hand, rests it under his chin contemplatively.

“One night there’s a costume party at one of the fraternities and we decided to go. We’re not there ten minutes when I see a guy walking around dressed as a Crusader. Not as a Knight of the Round Table or something like that. He was most deliberately a Crusader. To emphasize the point he carried a “severed head” of a Muslim soldier.”

“Oh my god.”

Yusuf spares her a glance, his own emotions heavy in his voice reflected by her look of concern.

“Suddenly my chest tightened and I couldn’t breathe. I was so angry and completely caught off guard – by this ignorant excuse for a man and by my own reaction. What I saw those soldiers do to the people they invaded – there are no words for the horrors they inflicted. And this asshole was making a joke of it, reducing it to ‘cool costume’ with no understanding or care for the history or context of its symbolism. Just a head to toe punchline.”

“What did you do?”

Yusuf huffs and shakes his head. “I made a run for the bathroom to will myself to breathe again and so I wouldn’t strangle him right then and there. Nicky came after me, stayed with me until I felt like myself and in control again. Then he went out and confronted the guy.”

He grins at her reaction.

“What did he do?!”

“First he very politely read him the riot act about how his costume was not only historically inaccurate and shameful but that his positioning of Muslims as deserving of death was both bigoted and an embarrassment and that he could stand to learn a lot from Islam. Of course the guy took none of that criticism well. Things ended with Nicky breaking the guy’s nose.”

“No! Nicky?!” Nile is wide eyed awe and jaw almost to the ground while she smacks her fight fist emphatically into her left palm.

Yusuf shares her laugh. “You have no idea that side of him. Nicky was mad on both our behalf. The past isn’t just the past, Nile. Yes, Nicky and I met during The Crusades but it wasn’t a meet cute romantic comedy. There was a lot of pain – physically and most definitely emotionally – that we both had to work through before we could even begin being what we are to each other. Nicky is not that jackass from the party. That guy didn’t care about the implications of his actions. Nicky has cared for a long time. He learned with me because he made the choice to want to learn.”

“Does it bother you that he still uses his sword?”

It’s a really good question. He squints up to the sky and stretches his arms out in front in a bid to work out some of the tension in his shoulders. “Hmmmm, the sword’s different. At least for me. That was gifted to him by his father before he set out the first time. It’s the one physical connection to his birth family that remains.” He pauses. “He lost it in the middle of a very chaotic battle. I remember seeing him in the distance. There was so much carnage already and he was frantically searching for it, pushing and throwing men out of the way. I eventually found it – this was not that long after I’d decided to stop killing him since clearly that wasn’t taking -- and later presented it to him as a sign of goodwill when he was alone and looking so deliciously dejected by the turn his misinformed life had taken.”

“And he…”

“Gratefully accepted. Then he killed me with it. How do you like that for gratitude?”

Nile rolls her eyes. “I swear you two –”

“He was incredibly apologetic when I came to,” Yusuf interjects, grinning widely.

They begin their return walk to the main section of the grounds.

“We all survive in different ways,” says Yusuf more somber now. “You and Andy (and sometimes Nicky) call me Joe.”

Nile nods in affirmation, a bit confused.

“And you know that Joe is short for Joseph which is the Anglicized version of Yusuf.”

“Mmm-mmm.”

“I use Joe because it’s still my name, it’s still part of my identity. It’s adjacent to the name my parents gave me. I’m also aware that, depending on the time and place, it’s more palatable to the general public. I’ve gone back and forth a handful of times. September 11 made having the name Yusuf and this skin and this hair a very blatant target. It didn’t matter what my background was I might has well have been one of the hijackers.”

“Joe—”

“So, Yusuf becomes Joe and they can’t quite get a read on where Joe is from; Joe is a bit of a chameleon. I’m not the only one who has ever had to wear a disguise that’s close enough to the real thing but just different enough to offer an ounce of protection. Ibrahim becomes Abraham. Safiyah becomes Sophie.”

Nile rests a gentle touch on his arm. “I know all about making people feel comfortable around me. I walk into a room and can see them clocking me from top to bottom, looking for anything that will tell them what kind of Black woman I am; shade of my skin, style of my hair, the way I carry myself. Am I to be tolerated – God, I hate that word so much! _Tolerated_ – basically you’re just putting up with me because you have to. It’s fucking exhausting.”

He watches her as she looks around, can sense the thoughts percolating in her head that have her feeling antsy.

She rests her eyes on him again. “So what do we do?”

He smiles. “We remember the past because it’s part of who we are. We push back at the walls others have put in place; break through them, tear them down; refuse to go gently into that good night. And we survive by finding moments of love and joy that we can embrace without apology. Finding happiness and celebrating ourselves in the face of abject hatred is as much an act of resistance.”

Nile picks up on that thread. “They want us to cower in fear, to second guess our right to exist and live. To stay in the trap they built. Do we give them that power? Hell no.”

“Acts of self-love are a battle cry that we refuse to be silenced or erased. It’s not always about a gun and a sword. There is a place for both.”

“I like that,” Nile says. “No matter what they charge for this place it doesn’t change what Andy and Quynh had together and what was stolen not just here but from the life they built together. It won’t change what Quynh still is to her.”

“Her heartbeat.”

“Such a poet!”

They’re enjoying this moment of shared high spirits when they spot Nicolo watching them from the outer edge of the reconvening tour group. He smiles brightly as he moves slowly in their direction.

“That’s my cue,” Nile observes and begins to head off before stopping and lowering her voice. “Thank you for the talk, Joe. I…it really meant a lot to me to be able to talk about this with someone.”

“You’re welcome. It meant a lot to me too. I think it’s good for us to have these conversations.” He leans closer. “Anytime. Please don’t hesitate.”

For the first time since early that morning the smile on her lips reaches her eyes. She playfully nudges their shoulders together then heads off toward Andy.

“Everything okay?” Nicolo asks once he’s reached Yusuf’s side.

“All is good,” Yusuf replies and fills him in on their conversation while they follow the rest of the group from a decent distance. He enjoys the way Nicolo is just a little too near his side for it to be completely casual, their arms pressed together. “And how’s Andy?”

“Not great,” Nicolo’s admission is worrisome yet unsurprising. “Remembering isn’t always easy.”

“But it is important. As long as it doesn’t consume you.”

“I worry for her – if we don’t find Quynh. Or if we do. It might not be what she expects or needs.”

“The question then,” posits Yusuf, “is if it’s better to know or not? We know what the not knowing has been like.”

“Better the devil you know…” Nicolo says somewhat wistfully.

Yusuf gently touches his wrist. “Do you really think that?” He’s curious. They’ve all been so focused on this track that he hasn’t had a chance to delve too deep into the different ramifications with Nicolo.

“No.” Nicolo shakes his head. “I do think it’s better to know. I just think we should be ready for the fallout.”

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

One of the many things learned over the course of an immortal life –

Making plans is a jinx.

It’s tempting fate and the joke is on you.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

Quynh is back but not found by any of them or Copley’s deep pockets.

She’s apparently turned up all on her own at Booker’s --

(and why there Yusuf asks knowing that Nile also shares those dreams and is closer physically, at the moment, to Andy. Booker suggests that might be the precise reason – Quynh seeking out someone else who is astray. The insinuation does not sit well with Yusuf)

“She wants to meet with Andy?” Nicolo clarifies as the silence around the dining room table settles in just left of awkward.

Booker, hiding behind his sunglasses (yet not hungover, rather refreshingly sober – a likely testament to the shock he’s recently experienced), has his arms resting on the table and is trying to simultaneously make himself appear smaller and humble while also being the focus of all their attention. He shrugs. “She’s….it’s not as clear as you think. I’m not withholding guys, I promise. She talks around the idea of Andy, tiptoes around her name but it’s always still about her. It’s too vague to be anything but deliberate. I don’t know, it’s hard for me to explain.”

“What does that mean?” Yusuf demands while fighting back a multitude of conflicting emotions at the first sight of Booker after seven months exile rather than the hundred years; at the revelation that Quynh has returned; at the yearning he feels to see both his old friends yet neither. His brain is processing at the speed of a flipbook where he can see the jittery big picture amidst the individual parts. It’s not fluid but there’s something he can’t turn away from.

“It means,” Booker sounds exasperated, “She’s remarkably fine for someone who just swam out of her grave after a few hundred years.”

“Like she’s there but not? PTSD from reliving endless torture?”

Leave it to Nile to be succinct.

Booker continues. “Whether her behaviour is a result of trying to process what she’s been through or someone else is pulling her strings like a marionette – or both to be honest – to anyone unfamiliar with her past she would come across as cool and collected. Which is great except for the obvious.”

“Well this has been incredibly helpful –”

“Joe –”

“What? What do we do with this, boss? Quynh turns up out of the blue at Booker’s – of all people – after being gone for centuries. Up until recently she was buried and alive at the bottom of the ocean according to Nile and then she’s suddenly sightseeing in Paris? Popping over for a drink and a chat. Booker can’t get a read on her and he’s usually good at picking up on those kinds of details. But sure, it’s all good. Nothing to worry about.” Yusuf leans back in his chair and folds his arms defensively across his chest, making sure to level his stare at each of them.

“I’m not ignoring that she’s back. I can’t. No one gets left behind.” Andy counters steadfastly, hurting at the idea that she broke that rule and the consequences – one half hope, one half dread – have pitched up on her front stoop like an uninvited guest.

Nicolo reaches out his hand in peaceful gesture. “It’s important that you’re safe, Andromache.”

“She won’t hurt me.”

“We don’t know what she’s thinking. She’s been through more than probably anyone. And you’re mortal now.” Nicolo reminds them of the elephant in the room.

“I’ll go with Andy,” Nile states.

“Wait—”

“No—”

“That’s not—”

Nile throws up her hands and raises her voice unwaveringly. “I’m not asking permission guys. I’m the only one here who hasn’t met Quynh. That means I’m the only one who can still dream of her, can still feel what she feels. If I go with Andy I have inside information. Anyways, Andy needs someone to watch her back. I can do both. I go in with her. I keep you guys in the loop each step of the way. You’re still the eyes and ears watching over and I’m your inside soldier. We treat this like a reconnaissance mission.”

It’s a smart calculation and the perfect anecdote to the rest of their emotionally driven digressions.

Clearly it hits the right note because Andy shifts into mode right before their eyes. “I still run point.”

“No doubt.”

“That means,” and she turns to Booker and waits for him to remove his sunglasses. “You are going to go through every single detail you remember from the very first time Quynh showed up in your flat – which we all know means she’d been watching you for awhile – to the second, third, and fourth time you spoke. I want to know what she said as exact as you can recall; her tone, what she wore, how she carried herself. Any tells or slips to indicate someone else is manipulating things. In the two weeks prior to first contact did you notice anything out of the ordinary? We’re taking notes and we’re doing a digital recording and we will go over _everything_. No one is going in blind.”

She looks at Yusuf. “Eyes and ears,” she says with a nod.

Andy’s confidence has always moved something in him. It rubs off on him like a lucky penny even in the worst of times making him feel that together they can’t miss. That hasn’t always been the ultimate outcome but it does speak to the faith, trust, and love he feels for her and this team. Like her he’s desperate to see Quynh – friend, family, whatever she may be now. He wants to believe in the beauty of what this could be.

He’s also trying to be a realist.

If he’s honest with himself he feels bad for Booker who is now tasked with urgently remembering things blurred away in the bitterness of an empty bottle or flask. Yet when he looks at the man he sees the seriousness with which he heeds Andy’s orders. He’s here and he’s trying for them even after being cast out. One hundred years compared to this? Something has to shift.

Yusuf gets up and walks over to the desk in corner of the living room where he picks up a notebook and pen then heads back to resettle with the group. “Anything you can remember Book,” he keeps his voice gentle.

Booker takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay…”

Nicolo rises. “I guess I’ll put some coffee on.”

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

The water is just the right kind of hot to sooth Yusuf’s muscles and encourages him to overlook the lack of space to stretch out. He has no complaints though. Not when Nicolo is sitting across from him in the clawfoot bathtub (honestly, Nicolo had insisted on this flat just for that, his excitement too endearing to ignore) with his arms resting on the porcelain edges. There’s a wet sheen to his dewy skin, damp hair slightly mussed and a week’s worth of scruff across his face; and he’s just staring back in that way he does.

Yusuf grants him an amused smile. The kind that twists his lips and face slightly and forces Nicolo to hide a chuckle. Yusuf mirrors his posture, placing both his arms on the side of the tub and very lightly caressing his fingers across the curved edges. Their legs are doing something entangled beneath the surface.

This is nice.

Calm.

This time tomorrow they may be in the middle of a tempest. Tonight they take what they can.

Even when no one is around, Nicolo defaults to Italian when he’s feeling nostalgic or romantic in recalling remembrances beholden to only them.

_“I was thinking about when I first truly knew that I wanted you exactly as you are.”_

_“When I was cutting you down in battle with my unparalleled brawn? Or shocking you by speaking your tongue better than you?”_ Yusuf asks also in Italian.

Nicolo rolls his eyes but just as quick the moment of jest transforms into something more thoughtful. _“Long after that when we were already friends and we lived in that cottage. It was the first time we had one place to stay in for a long time, no need to rush off anywhere.”_

They gaze at each other. Yusuf remembers. He likes whenever Nicolo brings this story up. They both pretend it’s the first time they’re speaking of it.

Nicolo continues. _“We shared the same bed but we weren’t together yet. Back-to-back. There was always a little space between us. It was very respectful. You kept waking up early and disappearing for an hour. I knew you weren’t praying because you usually did that in the cottage. So one morning I followed you.”_

_“I wasn’t exactly hiding.”_

_“No, you weren’t. You were in the back field with no shirt on,” Nicolo’s eyes crinkle with amusement yet his tone remains serious, reflective. “You were running back and forth, jumping around, lifting stones and bags of collected soil or dirt. I was confused at first and then realized you were working out. You worked yourself until you were covered in sweat and breathing very hard.”_

He levels Yusuf with his unblinking seafoam eyes (and Yusuf is convinced there’s no other soul in the world with the same colour) penetrating through Yusuf’s exterior.

_“The morning light hitting your skin, all those sharp angles and curved lines moving with your every breath. You were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I knew that already but that morning my mouth went dry. It’s as if everything – all our talks, traveling together, and then this moment – all came together and I knew I wanted you. All of you.”_

_“You didn’t say anything then,”_ Yusuf is soft with his words.

_“What could I say?”_ Nicolo closes his eyes and leans his head back letting the quiet recollection simmer between them. _“What if you’d rejected me? I would have deserved it after everything I’d done.”_

_“Nicolo…”_ Yusuf shifts forward and threads the fingers of his right hand with Nicolo’s left. They both tighten then loosen their grasp, an act of understanding.

Eventually Nicolo looks at him again. _“You had become more to me than anyone else in the world but I didn’t know what I was to you besides a companion; a friend.”_

_“I knew you were watching me for a long time before I finally made sure to look back. I wanted you to be the first to say something,”_ Yusuf shares.

_“Did you?”_ It’s not an actual question but a flirtation they’ve danced before.

_“I liked your eyes on me, so intense like you wanted to devour me.”_ Yusuf grins at the way Nicolo’s chest and ears start to go pink. _“I already knew my words affected you in ways you couldn’t control; the blush you always tried to hide by turning away. What I didn’t know is if you’d ever choose to be with me. The workouts were to keep fit and find ways to release all the tension that was building inside of me. Knowing you were watching me was incentive.”_

_“It still took awhile.”_

Yusuf shrugs. _“It took as long as it needed to. I only had eyes for you. I would wait if it was just a matter of time that was the issue and not your lack of interest.”_

_“What I wanted with you…”_ but Nicolo can’t find the words to finish.

Yusuf scoots forward, slashing water over the sides of the tub, and cradles Nicolo’s face between his hands. _“You have me, Nicolo. You always have. When our times is done in this world we will leave it together side-by-side. We were born together and so shall we die together. But not today or tomorrow or the day after that. We still have a way to go and then, whatever comes next, will be ours to face as one.”_

Nicolo’s eyes are glassy and searching. He pulls Yusuf’s hands to his lips and kisses them.

_“Okay?”_

_“Okay.”_

A moment hesitation and then Yusuf adds, switching back to English, “Now that I’m all the way over here I’m staying. The faucet is hitting me in the back.”

They laugh as Yusuf turns around and settles himself between Nicolo’s legs, his back to Nicolo’s chest. Nicolo rubs his hands through Yusuf’s wet curls and then wraps his body in in loose arms. They just sit together. With their matching breaths Yusuf feels like he could just about drift off.

A noise outside the bathroom door has them both turning to attention before relaxing.

“Sebastian?” Nicolo calls out.

There’s a shuffling of feet. “Just making sure you two haven’t fallen asleep in there. You’ll get hypothermia.” No one says anything. “I—uh—was wondering if there was anything else I needed to do tonight?”

“I think we’ve earned a night off to take it easy. Tomorrow will be crazy.”

“Right. Okay.”

They wait. He’s still clearly in the hallway. Nicolo gently bites Yusuf’s shoulder as they both try not to laugh.

“Hey Book!” Yusuf says.

“Yeah, Joe?”

Yusuf takes a meditative breath. “I think they’re replaying this afternoon’s match in a little bit. We could watch, if you want. It might help get our mind off things for tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

The question is loaded in a way it shouldn’t be. There’s a lot to work on to make things right. But it doesn’t seem as unattainable as a few months back.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just give me a few minutes.”

“Okay. I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Nile is picking up snacks!” Nicolo shouts to disappearing footsteps.

“What is she getting?” Booker has stopped but sounds further away.

“I do not know if I can say for sure. I’m still learning her tastes. Maybe a wager?”

There’s a pause then Booker replies, “Choose five things. You have to get at least four and they have to be specific, name brand and/or flavour counts.” With the terms set he’s gone.

A very welcome shiver runs through Yusuf’s body as Nicolo places his lips to his ear. “You are a very sweet man.”

“Am I?”

Yusuf almost loses his balance when Nicolo suddenly shifts their positions, half turning him so they’re face-to-face.

“Yes. You are.” It’s said like a statement of fact with no opinion to the contrary to be entertained.

It’s so easy for Yusuf to get lost in those eyes before he remembers himself. He nudges their noses together and follows up with a soft kiss that steadily turns more heated. One of the many things he loves is that Nicolo always kisses with consideration. There’s a deliberateness to the touch of his lips, the coaxing of his tongue, the graze of teeth across skin. It’s both a question (the very first time) and answer (every time since). It’s an oath and a vow.

The tv blares to life downstairs and Yusuf frustratingly breaks their moment and settles his forehead against Nicolo’s chest.

“You shouldn’t leave your date waiting,” Nicolo teases.

“We’ll finish this later,” Yusuf promises and clambers ungracefully out of the bathtub. He presses a wet path across the tiled floor and picks up a towel. Patting his body until it’s damp and then scrubbing it across his hair he flings water droplets all over. Wrapping the towel around his waist he casts a parting look at Nicolo who is watching him with a fond expression while still reclining in the hot water.

He turns and reaches for the doorknob.

“Yusuf.”

He looks back and they share a fixed gaze.

“Yes, my love.”

“You have always been my chosen path.”

They used to play a game back in their early days traveling together, stuck with each other while also being too scared to walk away from whatever it was they were. The game was called ‘Tell Me One True Thing’ as a way for them to share but without the pressure to give away too much of themselves too early to someone still too unknown.

Nicolo’s words, so deceptively simple, strike at Yusuf’s heart – at something raw and basic and honest that’s never been in question since they crossed that initial threshold (when suspicious uncertainty became companionship) yet means the world to hear affirmed even all this time later another world away.

He smiles, unabashed with the happiness he’s feeling. Nicolo returns his grin.

Tomorrow might already be written. Maybe not. _This_ – this family, this place, this home, this life, this man -- he will hold onto.

Yusuf raises his right hand to rest over his heart and bows his head.

“Shukran.”

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of things:  
> 1\. When Nicolo references Yusuf working out, it's inspired by this video of Marwan Kenzari (back in 2013?) when he was training for the film 'Wolf'. I'm linking the shorter version of the video (you can find the longer one on youtube) but, um, yes.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nah3edKnBEI
> 
> 2\. Not only do I like the general idea of Nile and Yusuf bonding but I think there's something really important in seeing people of colour engaging in these kind of personal conversations and recognizing that while there are some differences to our experiences there can also be a common ground of understanding on which to build something very strong. Speaking for myself I've been having discussions like this for quite a while now and within the last few months it has been a very defining part of what it is to just exist right now.
> 
> 3\. Shukran is Arabic for "Thank You"


End file.
